Amenity

You could use a new way,
a totally different direction,
shot into space like nobody’s business,
ha, since after all,
we ought to realize it honestly isn’t,
even for you either, unfortunately.

Because it’s actually novocaine,
wearing down your most sensitive areas,
lack of pain to feel or hear from others,
just taking everything in good measure,
except the necessary understanding,
that sure must be someone else’s problem.

Dip your dry fuse in gasoline,
screaming up high on courted knees,
name your first born as an offering,
then chow down over a burger and fries,
blowing kisses to your polystyrene eucharist,
yet making certain there’s plenty of wine.

My life is but a souvenir,
hollow as your tossed newspaper,
stolen through repeated centuries ago,
breathing once again in young lungs,
worlds along without a remedy,
never capable to start an innovation.